


Of Wolf and Man

by setos_puppy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Animal Play, Animal Transformation, Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setos_puppy/pseuds/setos_puppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first moon is always the worst</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Wolf and Man

It hurts in a way that Stiles isn't even sure he'll ever be able to recover from. It's like acid in his veins, burning through his blood, tearing his muscles to pieces, eating him alive from the inside out. There's sickening noise of his body breaking itself apart and desperately healing, too quick, too slow. He lifts a hand in front of his feverish, bewildered eyes and clenches his jaw in sickened awe at the way his fingers disjoint and lengthen, popping and hanging uselessly before reconnecting as his nails stretch and point into deadly sharp claws. 

He's pretty sure he's been screaming in agony for hours, he isn't even sure if he has any voice left, or if the noise echoing in his ears is just his own insanity as his brain boils into nothing. How can people stand this? His head falls back and his mouth opens for another desperate scream, he feels blood pool in his mouth, he chokes and gurgles on it, coughing and spitting it over himself as his gums bleed and his teeth cut through his tongue and his lips. 

He pitches forward and falls, slams hard on the cold, damp floor. He hears his bones crunch on impact, his teeth jolt and bump through more skin and tissue as his chin slams hard on the ground. Twisting in fever he arches and writhes, blood, tears and saliva are hot on his face as he gasps in his own fluids, tasting sickness and copper. His head slams back hard on the floor, the black and red flash of pain almost comforting from the way his body is tearing itself apart. His body convulses and contorts in a way out of his control, his spine feels like it's alive, wiggling inside of his body, hissing with a snap-crackle-pop of life as it sets and breaks. 

The pain rolls over him in torrents and he manages to roll. He spits on the ground, black and red tides of blood splatter over the clean tile and he groans as the last of the fight leaves his body in sparks of nerve severing pain. Oozing flat into the floor, Stiles lets out a noise that could have been a whimper if he had enough energy. Slowly the heat inside of him fizzles out to nothing and he manages to drag his lead heavy body upward, moving clumsily, heavily, as he tries desperately to control himself with whatever dignity he may have left. His body is that of an unsteady foal and he falls a few times in an embarrassing, ungraceful manner. His eyes are wrenched shut in pain at the brightness and the unsteady, shifting greyness that composes the world and he wishes that he can do the same to his ears. 

Warm, soothing hands smooth down his spine, settling the fire in his body to a dull throb of pain. Stiles turns, mouth open with a plea and eyes still closed painfully as he presses toward the feeling. Baritone hushing floats into his head, calming the chittering and buzzing that's making his head feel muzzy. Stiles tucks himself against the solid heat, the body that is only barely inches taller than his own and lets out a whine, of what he isn't sure. A hand settles on the back of his neck and rubs at the nape before scratching lightly up his scalp. The nails are sharp, deadly like his own, but are used in a way that is clearly controlled. 

“You're like me now, Stiles.”

His tongue is too heavy to form words, it feels strange at the idea to use them, instead he simply pushes his nose forward again and snuffles into the smell of blood, smoke and damp forest. A chuckle breaks between the two of them and Stiles lets himself get dragged into a kiss, a heavy, brutal kiss. Their fangs gnash at lips and Stiles can taste his Alpha, taste him in an intimate, dizzying way. When he pulls back he dares his eyes open in the dimly lit basement and peers up at the smooth, age defined face. Stiles reaches up, curl a hand over a sharp cheekbone and peers into the dark eyes that are reflecting red in the moonlight. His Alpha's head tilts slightly, mouth seeking the rip in his long sleeved t-shirt. The flat of his tongue licks over the vein and bone on Stiles' wrist that had been ripped open for the Bite. He thinks, as his Wolf starts to surface, snarling and hungry for flesh, that he could get used to this.


End file.
